November 2026 – Jordyn Saelor

thrice

I traveled through the veil of the water thrice: once, blindly, to a stormy sea; twice, to my mother and a town that just made me cry (so I left again

Do you feel it still? After the death of us, I made this city walkable, I pulled smog from the suburb air and packed it into debris cubes for your grave. You smothered me, layered down in carbon cloth, spun me in street threads beside the melting sun before your bedtime, but after the blazeContinue reading “Chrysanthemum”

and you weren’t there

Maybe the library was a god who died without my belief to sustain it—or, my belief plus my proximity because I’d always believed